


The Stefania & Milos Game

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Fun, Games, Identity, Sex Games, Sort of like roleplay, but only because Jim loves to pretend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trio of vignettes in which Jim reinvents them and Molly can't resist a good story - or a good storyteller.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stefania & Milos Game

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Live-In](https://archiveofourown.org/works/729625) by [hotchoco195](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195). 



> Set during 'The Live-In', just a oneshot for fun

She can tell from the glint in his eyes it’s going to be a good one – dramatic, possibly too much so. He’s feeling extra spirited tonight.

“Alright. You’re Catalina, a high school music teacher. I’m Principal Marcos. You want me to leave my wife for you but I won’t because my daughter knows about our affair and is blackmailing me.”

During the second course Jim starts a loud argument with her in Czech. People try to look discreetly, the other diners peering at them without turning their heads too far. Waiters hover nearby as it gets more heated, Jim’s feigned rage growing in a way that’s shocking but nothing compared to his actual tantrums. Molly tips the contents of the table onto the floor and storms out, and when Jim catches up to her they fuck against the back wall of a supermarket two blocks away. He whispers sweet things she doesn’t understand and she clings to him like it’s the last time.

*****

“Lisa Hudson, you’re American, a college senior spending her summer backpacking through Europe.”

“What am I studying?”

“Anthropology,” He smiles, knowing she’ll like that one, “You speak no Spanish but you’re trying.”

“And you?”

“Heathcliff Evans, named for the Wuthering Heights character – my parents were romantics at heart. I’m on a business trip for my law firm handling a difficult client who skipped bail. I’m trying to make partner and my career hangs on succeeding here.”

The car drops her at the corner and circles the block to give her a head start. Molly wanders aimlessly by the city walls, taking in the sights. At least that bit’s not pretending. He follows her for about five minutes before offering to buy a drink. The tiny bar is dismally dark and the tapas is greasy, Jim playing sleazy to perfection. The whole night makes her feel sort of dirty, a holiday fling that would gain a certain amnesiac gloss with time until it seemed magical. They get a hotel room rather than ruin it by going back to the house.

*****

He waits until they’re almost at the bar to spring this one on her, and she knows why as soon as he starts whispering.

“Princess Ludmilla of the Netherlands, eldest child of the Queen’s brother.”

“What? Jim, no! No one is going to believe that!”

“You’re in London for the races next month and to tie up some investments for your father, who prefers to laze around his country estate and shoot fowl.”

“I don’t even speak Dutch. I know nothing about the Netherlands except tulips, canals and windmills.”

“I am Johann Duyvestyn, your secretary. Perpetually single, devoted to you, live with my mother.”

“I don’t think I even know what a real Dutch accent sounds like.”

The car stops and Jim flashes her a grin. “Then I suggest you let me do the talking.”

Then he’s holding the door open and offering her a hand. She scowls at him and steps out, ignoring it. He smirks and rushes ahead to the entrance, opening that for her too.

It’s a classy place, full of the upper-class set: wealthy gentry, socialites with various substance abuse problems and businessmen trying to win themselves some sophistication by association. Molly finds herself standing straighter almost without thinking as she surveys the room down her nose.

“A table for two.” Jim says to the waiter in a perfect thick accent.

“I’m sorry sir, we’re fully booked tonight. We can’t seat you without a reservation.”

Jim inhales sharply and Molly steels herself for the coming ice.

“Where is your manager? I wish to speak to him immediately before you waste any more of Her Highness’ time.”

“Her Highness?” the man frowns slightly. He looks like he’s used to being browbeaten for tables but the mention of a crown has thrown him off balance.

Jim’s voice is almost ridiculously snooty. “Princess Ludmilla was assured this was one of the finest establishments in London, but if that is not the case we shall go elsewhere.”

“Princess Ludmilla?” he repeats, and Molly tries to look as impressive as possible in devastatingly feminine Chanel.

He turns to her, dropping his head repentantly. “I am sorry Your Highness, but according to this young man there is no room for us.”

Molly throws him a fiery glance before turning it on the waiter and sniffing loudly.

“My apologies, I should have vetted it personally. I’ll call the driver.” Jim takes out his phone.

“Wait! Uh, sorry sir, Your Highness. I’ll just see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” Jim clips it off crisply as he scurries away.

 

Two minutes later they’re alone in the VIP room, complimentary champagne in hand as Jim crosses his legs.

“You are such an arse.” She sighs.

“Is that how you speak to all your employees?”

“It’s how you speak to yours.”

“Touché.”

She sips her drink and tries to think regal thoughts.  “What happens when they Google Dutch royals and figure out I’m not one?”

Jim smiles. “That’s what the backdoor’s for, honey.”

“Arse.”

“As Your Highness wishes.”


End file.
